


Roses and Candles

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why do I let him do these things to me?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Set around Dead Things. Written 2001, part of my 2015 archiving of old fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses and Candles

I'm walking through Sunnydale in the dark.

Bag over my shoulder bounces as my strides cover the ground. Stupid shoes are digging into my thigh every stride; should have stuffed them in more carefully, along with stupid, stupid uniform, still smelling of grease.

Don't think about the shift just gone. Eight hours of boredom, mindless smiling, endless faces. Don't think about the shift tomorrow. Just don't.

Breathe the fresh, cool air, shift the stake in my hand. Be a huntress, awake, alert, Slayer.

Past the graveyard. Rest in peace, people. Blessed, quiet, ungreasy peace.

Don't think about the peace. Don't ever think about that place. Don't think about graves, or waking up in the dark. Just breathe that cold air, and hope something distracting comes along soon.

Into the second cemetery of the night. Some good slayage in this one, in times past. All quiet now though; quiet as the grave. Whoops; there I go again. I'll never be cheerful Buffy this way. What will they think of me?

A whisper of air behind me and I'm around with the stake poised. Nothing. One step further on, and something hits me hard from above. We're rolling on the ground, pain where my leg hits a gravestone, a heavy weight on my back. I wrench the stake out from under my body, push myself up off the ground and swing a leg out to trip the figure. He's down and I'm up; astride him I bring the stake down.

And stop half an inch from his T-shirt. The bastard's grinning at me. His dramatically outflung arms do nothing to protect himself. I shiver with the nearness of the kill.

"Deathwish, Spike?" He's still grinning. I start to rise and he slips out from under me, onto his feet.

" Got something to show you." He's off towards his crypt, assuming I'll follow.

"I've got work to do. Patrol."

He turns, looking at me with that half smile. "Nothing out tonight any nastier than that tongue of yours, Slayer."

I raise my eyebrows doubtfully, playing for time. He sounds exasperated. "I've done the bloody rounds, OK? One vamp, newly raised; told him the Slayer was in town and to get out. I'll bet you he's still running now. So forget the blooming duty bit for an hour or so, love. I told you, something to show you."

I ought not to follow; I should walk away. But the shift was long and boring, the night quiet and I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. Maybe he has something that I need to know about. I'm behind him before I realise I've made the decision.

I watch him stride in front of me, rolling lightly on his feet. He moves like an animal; a Doberman maybe. Unleashed. As an animal he's beautiful, graceful. I have to remember he's demon, unnatural; that's sometimes hard.

We go into the crypt and he starts down the stairs. I stop at the top. Time to find out what he wants.

"What's this about, Spike?"

He looks up at me, beckons, then moves down again. The lighting in there is odd. Cautiously I follow him, back prickling. The room below is alight with candles on every surface, casting strange shadows. Scent fills the air. The effect is soft; unlike anything I'm used to seeing down here. On the bed are roses, dozens of them, red and white.

I want to run away.

I want to cry but I can't afford to, not in front of him. I want to hurt him, to drive this stupid sentimentality away. Anger rises in me; doesn't he understand how I feel, how much I don't want to feel anything for him? Why does he keep doing this to me?

He's smiling now, tenderly, possessively, waiting for my response. It infuriates me even more and I launch myself at him from the ladder, a punch landing squarely in his face. He falls back onto the bed and I'm on top of him again, pounding him with my fists, inarticulate.

This time he's defending himself and we roll over and over, limbs entwined. Until I'm looking up at him, my wrists pinned down by his hands above my head, his legs holding down mine. And he bends down and kisses me, his tongue forcing my mouth open, his vampire teeth drawing blood from my lip. So cold his kisses, so passionate. Without intending I respond to the kiss, arching my back into his body. Now I realise what's happening. This stops. Now. I force his tongue out of my mouth and pant for breath.

The roses still have thorns; I can feel them digging into my back.

For a moment or two we fight over the kiss, then he raises his head again. Bringing my wrists together he imprisons them both with his left hand. I wriggle slightly but the hold is tight. I decide to wait for a better moment to break loose and hit him again. His other hand is running up and down my body, unbuttoning my blouse, then the side zip on my skirt. He shifts his position back down my legs, his hand gently brushing my thighs, my stomach, my breasts. His head goes down and his tongue encircles a nipple, pulling at it painfully.

I'm still furious but arousal is starting to take over. Years of instinct scream at me to act; I am held down by a vampire, but there is something astonishingly liberating about being out of control. This isn't my fault; I'm not making love to him; whatever he does to me I can't be held responsible. And his body is so smooth, so powerful. I know that I ought to break free but I'm still waiting for him to be off his guard

In the meantime he is running the lightest of fingers over my crotch, over the panties. With a sudden violent move he rips them off and then goes back to the gentlest vibration over my clit, once, twice then back to my thighs and breasts. He buries his head in my neck and I feel his teeth on my skin, but they do not close. Without intending to I make the slightest of noises.

He reaches up to my wrists again, separates them and crosses my arms, then with his legs he rolls my body over so I'm face down on the bed. Now he is sitting on my upper legs. While he hold my arms with one hand he shifts around and I realise he's reaching for something; I only find out what when cold metal encircles one wrist. He's chained that to the bed.

"Spike!" I protest, but coming from face down it doesn't have much authority. He leans down and whispers in my ear.

"Trust me, pet."

Doesn't seem like I have much choice at the moment. I relapse into as dignified a silence as the situation will allow, and try not to think about what this must look like or what I'm participating in.

My other wrist is held down by my side. The free hand is still running over my body, electric where ever it touches. Spike bends over to nuzzle the back of my neck, teeth nipping gently, and I can feel the bulge at his crotch on my rear. His hand is at that bulge, unzipping his jeans and now the cold hard smoothness of his cock slides gently over my buttocks and back. I press my body up into it; it feels so good. Damn. Keep still. Don't give him what he wants.

He's sitting up again, and this time his hand dives between my legs from the rear, sliding past my vagina to rest a finger on my clitoris. I gasp with the unexpected fierceness of the sensation. That finger stays there while two others push slowly into my vagina, gliding easily in the wetness. Now I'm rotating my hips slightly, trying to rub myself against that finger, needing the sensation. This time I can't persuade myself to stop. After all, this is his game; I'm not responsible. He laughs quietly and removes his hand, back to caressing my back and thighs, biting my shoulders, rubbing his cock up and down my body. Face down I can hardly move; when I try to raise my head he pushes it down again.

A new, sharp pain comes with his caresses; it takes a moment before I realise he has a rose stem in his hand, thorns raking my skin. Even with the pain I'm desperate for his touch everywhere. Again his hand goes between my legs, the rose flower rubbed against my clit. This time the sensation is so powerful I know I'm close to orgasm. But just before I come his hand moves again, the three fingers thrust inside me slide away and I'm left bereft.

He rolls me over again and I'm looking straight into his eyes. I don't need his legs to hold mine apart any more. He crouches above me, muscles bunched under white skin, cock hanging low and heavy over my stomach and I arch up again, wanting it inside.

His look is so intense I can hardly bear to meet it.

"Say something. Ask." His voice is a low growl, predatory. It sends shivers down my back. My wrist is starting to hurt but it's overwhelmed by the other sensations. His free hand is on the bed too, so he can crouch low over me, almost touching. "Ask me for something. Anything, damn you."

I want his touch so badly. My body is screaming for it, and I know that he feels the desperation in the way I'm pulling myself up towards him, how my thighs under his are straining apart. But I won't ask. I won't be responsible. That much pride I retain.

He sees the defiance in my eyes and I see the pain in his. "Damn you to hell"; it is almost a groan as he thrusts himself deep inside, his thighs sliding off mine, his hand releasing my wrist at last. My legs are wrapped around his, pulling his groin down into mine, my arms goes around his neck, pulling his mouth to me. His cock slides easily, necessarily into me and his groin rubs my clit in blissful satisfaction. Three powerful strokes and I come in a half scream of release. By the time my body has finished shuddering he has come as well, silently.

The candles are still alight; barely time for them to start dripping wax.

We lie still for a moment as we were, then he rolls to one side and props himself on one elbow, still watching me, head on one side. I try to remember there is a demon behind those eyes, but at times like this he looks human, vulnerable. I know he's hurt by my silence, but I can't let myself go; I don't want to. Besides, he is vampire. Hurting the enemy; isn't that what I do?

The cuff around my wrist jangles as I try to shift to a sitting position. "Take this thing off me." He complies without comment.

Then I dress and leave. He tries to talk to me but I don't want to talk. I need to go home and take a bath.

Sometimes life is difficult. Sometimes it is easier. I don't know whether Spike makes things harder or not, or what I'm doing here, or how I feel about him. But he's the only person in the world that I can hurt, because he can take it, and because he hurts me back. And when you are the Slayer, when you've been through what I have, sometimes you need to hurt someone without feeling guilty, sometimes you need to be hurt without feeling responsible.

Don't you?

Now I'm walking home, through Sunnydale, in the dark. My friends, my sister, are waiting for me in the lighted living room. I'll shrug off the numbing shift, raise a smile and pretend that life is normal. But my thoughts keep returning to that crypt where, right now, Spike will be blowing out those candles, one by one.


End file.
